


Mira's Messes

by miraeyeteeth



Series: Finding Home [2]
Category: Guardians of Childhood & Related Fandoms, Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Drabble Collection, Friendship, Gen, Mental Instability, Random & Short, Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-07
Updated: 2014-08-04
Packaged: 2018-02-07 20:02:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 7,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1911936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miraeyeteeth/pseuds/miraeyeteeth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Repository of a bunch of A Home For Fear related ideas that either don't fit into my headcanon for it or are too tonally dark or otherwise just don't fit.</p><p>Essentially this is a bunch of disconnected, self-indulgent AUs and drabbles of my own fanfiction. Don't mind me.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Light

Light.

How he despises light.

For as far back as he can remember he's reveled in the darkness, the night, basking in the fear and uncertainty of all those around him.

But then the sun rises and light shines down, tearing his shadows apart and dissolving fears into nothing more than half-remembered figments.

Even in the darkness of the night, the blasted moon shines down and lends its gentle reassurance, invading his domain, encroaching on his territory.

And the Guardians, when they come, seem to hold pieces of that light inside of them. It shines out through their actions, their smiles and gifts and their care for the children. They nurture that selfsame light within their charges, the little pinpricks on the globe shining so painfully brightly and driving out his shadows and nightmares.

He wishes he could extinguish each and every one, plunge the world back to the way it once was, wrapped in soft, comforting darkness instead of bathed in piercing light.

And he tries, oh how he tries, but he is cast down yet again.

And he becomes aware of the newest addition, Jack Frost.

It may be one of his greatest regrets that he didn't find the boy earlier.

By the time he realizes how similar they are, how much they could give to each other, it's far too late. He's spent too much time with the Guardians. Jack is already infected by that loathsome light.

By the end, the boy is positively  _blazing_  with it, so much so that Pitch can hardly bear to even look at him, so bright and full of missed possibilities.

So when Jack comes to find him, months after his defeat, Pitch expects to see that same painful light. To face that blaze again and be burned, harmed at his core. That is all that light ever does to him.

But, surprisingly, it's okay. Because ice doesn't emit its own light, it only reflects it.

And when Jack is with him, there is no light to reflect. Nothing to burn or blind or hurt him. Jack walks unfazed into the dark as easily as the light and picks Pitch up, guides him to a place where the shadows still lay, even within the light of the world. Jack brings him  _home_.

He knows better than to hope that Jack might chose to stay in the dark. Ice might not have a light of its own, but dark has nothing for it to reflect, and the boy's spirit is smooth and unblemished and hard, with no cracks for shadows to slip into. Decay and blackness slide off him, finding nothing to cling to on the icy soul. And when Jack steps back into the light, he shines and blazes as brightly as any of them.

But Jack still continues to skate effortlessly between the worlds. And when he steps into the shadows, they no longer seem so barren or lonely. And Pitch thinks maybe, maybe, that was what he needed all along.


	2. Break

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is your daily reminder Pitch is not a good person. And that if Jack ever attempted to end their friendship, it would really not end well.
> 
> But don't worry, this scenario won't ever actually happen because Pitch would have to do something really heinous to get Jack to abandon him, and Pitch would never willingly jeopardize his friendship with Jack. It's fun to explore what-ifs, though, isn't it?

Jack had stopped visiting him. Pitch had at first managed to convince himself that this was a relief. No aggravating, overexcitable teenager rushing through his hallways, upsetting the Nightmares and causing a ruckus. No one to create hidden slicks of ice or chuck snowballs at him.

No one to break the suffocating, ever-present silence and loneliness of his home.

Pitch took to following Jack around whenever he could, watching from the shadows as the boy went around his tasks as a Guardian. He looked fine, the same as always. Pitch wanted to ask him why he didn't come anymore, but couldn't bring himself to swallow his pride. It wasn't that he wanted Jack to be around, that would be silly and weak.

He didn't try approaching Jack at all. Maybe out of fear of confirming what was worried had happened.

It was when Jack didn't show up for Halloween that Pitch couldn't deny the fact that there was something  _wrong_ , something missing. He had to talk to Jack.

"Been busy lately, Frost?" He asked nonchalantly, stepping out of the shadows behind the boy.

Jack flinched and whirled, staff up. "Pitch. I thought you knew better than to show your face to me," he said, voice and expression cold.

Pitch's brow furrowed. "I… Jack, what are you talking about?"

"You should know what you did. She was just a little kid, and now…" A sorrowful expression flitted over Jack's face before he shook his head and the icy glare dropped back into place. "I don't ever want to see you again, boogeyman. Next time I do, you'll wish you never crawled out of that hole of yours!"

Pitch choked. "Jack, ple-" The Guardian was already gone in a whirlwind of snow and ice.

What had just happened? Why? Why would Jack say those things? He couldn't be serious, he couldn't, no. It was all just a joke. A prank, Jack would come back in a second and laugh at him for falling for it.

But he didn't come back. And the terrible finality of his words struck Pitch like a physical blow. He clutched his chest desperately. It felt like when a child ran through him, magnified a hundred times. Like the rejection at Antartica, but a dozen times more painful. It felt like he was being torn apart, ripped to shreds from the inside out. Like all his innards had been scooped out and replaced with molten lead. Like the world was falling to pieces around him or maybe it was just him that was falling apart, he couldn't tell anymore.

It couldn't be, no. Jack couldn't turn away, he couldn't. Not again. He was the only one who understood, who walked the same path Pitch had. His other half, the missing piece of himself. Cold and dark. They couldn't be separate, Jack couldn't hate him, no, no, no. This wasn't happening, it was  _wrong._

Everything was wrong. The  _world_  was wrong.

Yes. That's what it was. This wasn't right. This didn't fit. Jack, his Jack, wouldn't abandon him, no. It was all the Guardians' fault. They had turned Jack against him. Yes, that was right. Poor Jack had been taken in by their lies, convinced that the boogeyman wasn't really his friend, was just a heartless monster.

…Well, who was he to disappoint the Guardians?

Jack would see. Once the Guardians were gone, he'd come to his senses. Once Jack had no one but Pitch, he'd see how much their friendship was worth. Then he'd never, ever leave. He'd beg for Pitch to forgive him.

And he would. Of course he would. What are friends for, after all?

* * *

Even Pitch had always been hesitant to harm children, at least physically. Terrifying them, traumatizing them, emotionally scarring them, that was all fine. Part of the job. But dead children didn't fear anything at all, and what was the fun in that?

Of course, this little quirk of his, this weakness, had been what had led to his defeat after all. He'd postured and threatened for too long, staying his hand from snuffing out the last light in a brutish and uncivilized way. At some level, he'd hoped that the threat would be enough to scare the child into submission, so he wouldn't have to follow through. And he'd paid for that.

No more. To defeat the Guardians this time, he had need of an army. Nightmares weren't good enough, he needed more fearlings.

And besides, the belief and fear of a million or a  _hundred_  million children couldn't compare to his connection with Jack Frost.

So he'd gone to visit his believers. The children had jumped and yelped at his appearance  _(as they should, oh if only they knew…)_  but they'd calmed down easily enough when he gave them a disarming smile and asked if they wanted to come play a game with him.

"Like Halloween?" They would ask.

"Of course. Just like Halloween," he'd lie with a smile, before whisking them away.

* * *

He'd forgotten just how sweet pure, unmitigated horror was, fear that wasn't diluted by the certainty of safety, of being able to go home where everything was fine again.

He'd forgotten how much he loved to hear those last, strangled screams before the children finally succumbed to the darkness and joined his army as fearlings.

* * *

The disappearance of so many children didn't go unnoticed, not by the Guardians or the human authorities, either. But he'd been prepared for that. Hiding the entrance to his lair was child's play, his realm of shadows mutable as always to his will. Avoiding the Guardians when he ventured out to collect new recruits was a little more challenging, but not by very much. There were only five of them, after all, to guard six continents worth of children. And while he lead the fools on a merry chase across the globe, the fear instilled by the abduction of so many young ones spread like wildfire through adults and children alike. He drew on it, growing stronger with every passing evening.

As promised, Toothiana was the first one he targeted. It was really very unwise of them to split their forces to try to cover the most ground. It made it dreadfully easy for Pitch to ambush her with his hordes of fearlings and Nightmares, subdue her and drag her down, down into the shadows.

They had tried to stick together after the loss of one of their members, but their soft spot for the children of the world was their undoing. Luring them away one at a time took skill, finesse, but Pitch wasn't short of either, nor of patience.

North fell next, then Bunnymund, and finally the Sandman.

He couldn't kill them, of course. The downside of having immortal enemies. But it was simple enough to catch them when they were alone and drag them away, shut them up in cages and chains and prisons, burying them so deep in his domain that no ray of light from the sun or the moon would ever reach them.

He hadn't bothered being showy, hadn't bothered gloating or celebrating. They were in his way, and he wanted them out of it as quickly and efficiently as possible. He couldn't care less what happened to them after that. Or what happened to the rest of the world. All of his focus had collapsed around a single point.

It was surprising, really, how effective he could be when he didn't waste all that energy on appearances or enjoyment. There was only room from heartless, brutal efficiency, because there was only one thing that mattered now. Jack. And now the poor boy was all alone. But not for long.

* * *

Pitch curled around the shivering, hiccupping boy in his grasp, stroking his hair gently, reassuringly. The screams and the insults and the thrashing had given way to sobbing, and even that had tapered off as physical and emotional exhaustion swamped the winter spirit. Through it all Pitch had held Jack, firmly but gently, oh so gently.

"Shh, shh. It's okay now. I've got you. You're safe," he whispered comfortingly. Jack didn't seem to listen but the boy had always been stubborn. It didn't matter. Soon enough he would see the truth, come to his senses. Pitch was nothing if not patient.

They were huddled together in one of Pitch's cages, piled with snow to make Jack more comfortable. The boy's staff lay propped against a wall, safely outside of reach. He hadn't wanted to take it away, but Jack had kept striking it against the bars and Pitch was concerned it would break. Jack seemed to be hurt the last time it was broken, and Pitch couldn't bear to see him in pain.

It was for his own good.

All around the cage the shadows and Nightmares and fearlings writhed and hissed, but they did not dare to touch the boy or his staff. Nothing would ever, ever be allowed to harm the winter spirit. He'd see the rest of the world shattered and salted and burned before anything would take his Jack away from him.

"I'll never hurt you, Jack," Pitch promised. "And I'll never let you go…"


	3. Past

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In my headcanon for A Home For Fear, Pitch is an earth-native fear spirit and doesn't have Kozmotis' background. If I did decide to incorporate the book canon into my fanfic, this is essentially how it would go.

 

Pitch stared blankly down at the locket that had been thrust into his hands by a certain frost spirit.. "Jewelry, Jack? Really? Do I seem like the type?"

"Don't you recognize it at all? It was yours, once."

Pitch snorted. "I don't know who sold you that load of crock, but frankly I'm a little surprised you bought it," he drawled, dropping the locket back into the Guardian's hands.

"I know about the Golden Age, Pitch," Jack said as the boogeyman started to turn away.

Pitch faltered, the name setting of something stirring far in the back of his mind. He shoved it down. "Doesn't ring a bell, I'm afraid," he said offhandedly.

"I know about the Lunanoffs. About the Moon Clipper. About the Golden General," Jack went on.

That last title struck a chord in Pitch and he froze, feeling a sudden surge of  _hatred_  stronger even than that which he felt towards the Guardians. The hidden thoughts stirred. Pitch whirled on Jack, features twisted into a snarl. "Shut up!"

Jack met his gaze with his own icy, resolute one. "I know about Kozmotis Pitchiner."

That name made the levees break. Memories crashed over him like a tidal wave, leaving Pitch reeling.

It was bizarre, remembering the  _Before_. His thoughts were fragmented, alien. Individual concepts were fuzzy and indistinct, and all he knew was an overarching feeling of insatiable, ravenous  _hunger_. The pitiful creatures that fled before him, before  _them_ , their screams and terror a feast to his senses, but it was a taste that only whetted his appetite. More. They needed more. They needed to grow and feed and  _consume_  until all that was left was the vast dark emptiness of the void.

And then, and then the creatures struck back, tried to fight. Warriors with weapons and armor that gleamed with starlight, forcing back the darkness, daring to stand against them. And the worst of them all, the Golden General.

How they  _hated_ him.

He harried them at every turn, blazing with light and purpose and righteous fury. He cut swathes through their ranks, stood in the way of their conquest, ruined everything.

And around his neck swung  _that locket_.

"No…" The word dropped unbidden from Pitch's lips and he felt his knees give out beneath him.

There was light. Burning, agonizing light. Blinding pain, being forced backwards, rounded up, penned in. Rage, at first, at being denied their prey, their  _feast_. Then came scheming, cunning, and cooperation. They knew the one who held them in this prison, and they turned all their focus onto breaking him.

For years the hated enemy stood strong, stalwart, unaffected, but they did not falter in their efforts, their whispers and tricks of the light.

And finally, a chink in that golden armor was found. The general's mental defences finally fell, they were able to worm their way inside his strange, singular mind, sift through unknown emotions and sentiment to find the secrets of this man. The locket, they learned, was what had given him the strength to defy them, or rather, it was the representation inside of it. His daughter, his driving force.

But played right, every strength was a weakness waiting to be exploited.

The screams were perfect. They had been plucked right from the enemy's mind, after all.

The terror and desperation was the sweetest thing they had tasted in a long time, but that sensation quickly paled to the rush of air from the doors being opened, the vicious, burning joy of freedom regained.

They fell upon the enemy in a frenzy. He would be the first consumed.

But the enemy had one last trick, one last way to stymie them, and instead of being consumed, they were merged, dark and light mixing to form grey shadows. They tried to disentangle themselves, but it was too late. They were dragged in, blended together, trapped inside this shell, this new prison. They were altered, warped, infected with  _humanity_.

A single scream of rage echoed through the darkness.

The flood slowly ebbed, and Pitch dragged air into his lungs. "Did you really think that  _this_  would push me into joining up with you lot? Truly?" he rasped from the floor, his head buried in his hands.

Jack swallowed, taking a step closer to the crumpled boogeyman."You  _were_  a good guy. There's no reason why you can't be one again, Pi- Kozmotis."

Pitch laughed, a slightly hysterical edge to the sound. "You don't seem to understand, boy. You aren't speaking with Kozmotis Pitchiner." He raised his head, a gash of a smile splitting his face, baring jagged teeth. "You're talking to his murderer."

Jack blinked, reflexively tightening his grip on his staff. He managed a weak smile. "That's… that's a good one, Pitch. You can stop joking around, now…"

Pitch rose to his feet once more and slowly advanced on Jack, as the Guardian started to back away. "Tell me, boy, how much do you know about Golden Age? How much did they tell you?"

"I don't…I- I thought… I didn't mean to…" Jack stammered, feeling his skin start to creep as the darkness that had been so welcoming for so long suddenly became deep and oppressive.

"The road to hell is paved with good intentions, isn't it, Jack?" the Nightmare King asked, cocking his head to one side.

"Pitch, please, I-"

"You what? You weren't happy with how I was? You wanted me to join the fun brigade and be one of the rest of you, was that it?"

Jack swallowed, his gaze flicking away from Pitch and to the exit. As he darted for the gateway, though, shadows lashed around his limbs, dragging him back, ripping his staff away. Jack wrenched against the bindings, heart leaping into his throat. "Let me go!"

"Shhhh, I'm not going to hurt you Jack, you don't need to be so afraid…" the reply came, a gentle hand gripping Jack's chin and tilting his face up.

"Pitch, why are you-"

"I see now, Jack. I'm not what you wanted." For an instant something other than malice flickered in the Nightmare King's eyes, but it was gone as soon as it came. "And I never will be. So, instead, I'll have to make you what I want. But first, I have some unfinished business to attend to…"

* * *

Pitch could feel himself fragmenting, the precarious persona he had pieced together over centuries unraveling, trickling away between his fingers.

Why

Why would Jack do this to him

Memories, then, of flashing white smiles and silver laughter and long conversations and the feeling of family, of belonging, of home

Lies

All of it

Not meant for Pitch, never for him

Only Kozmotis

Even after all these years the dead man still acted to ruin him

- _never wanted to remember this_ -

Jack was willing to kill him, to try to replace him with Kozmotis

And why wouldn't he be?

If Jack knew what he had done in eons past

- _there was blood on his hands, blood on his tongue, laughter on his lips_ -

What he was

- _murderer, monster, unforgivable_ -

He would never accept Pitch

- _never wanted Jack to know_ -

The horror singing through his veins now was proof enough of that

- _rip him tear him hurt him make him pay_ -

No

Not to Jack

The affection might have been a lie

- _a trick, a manipulation, it never meant anything, how could he have fallen for it_ -

But Pitch wanted it

And if it couldn't be given willingly he would just have to take it

- _take and take and take that was all he was ever able to do_ -

It was better than nothing

- _keep telling yourself that_ -

There was no other option, not anymore.

* * *

"Pitch, stop this!" Jack yelled, rattling the door of his cage.

"Oh, poor Jack… You were counting on that Golden Age sod to get rid of me, weren't you? So sorry to disappoint," a taunting drawl rang out from the shadows.

"I didn't want any of this to happen!"

"Of course you didn't. Your plan blew up in your face, didn't it? And you put so much time into it. It must have been difficult, Jack. It's a shame I'm not as weak as you expected."

"I don't know what you're talking about!"

"…You should have kept up the charade, Jack. It wasn't that bad, was it? You hardly even had to do anything… Then you would still be free, and none of this would be happening. But it's too late now."

"What charade? I don't understand! Pitch, please, just talk to me," Jack pleaded.

"I would love to, Jack, but I have so many things to do. A world to conquer, Guardians to destroy… Busy busy."

Jack refused to cower, fighting off the creeping sense of unease and terror with memories of mischief and snarky conversations. "Pitch! Come on, we're friends, remember?"

The Nightmare King appeared in a sudden swirl of shadows, looming over the cage, eyes blazing. "You have the gall to try to use that against me now?" he hissed. "You made your views on that quite clear when you decided that you didn't want the boogeyman around anymore, that you'd much rather I be replaced with some upright, virtuous general instead."

"Replaced? Pitch, I just wanted to get to know the whole you."

"Oh really? Well, now you have! Tell me, boy, now that you know all about my past, are you happy? Are you having fun?" Pitch asked, shadows rising up all around him.

Jack couldn't help but cringe back a little. "No."

"I didn't think so," Pitch stated flatly, turning away.

"I… felt so lost, when I didn't have my memories," Jack said, falteringly. "I thought… that you might have…"

"Oh, that's a good one. Been practicing your improv lately? No, I suppose you've already had plenty of practice," Pitch growled.

Jack slumped against the bars. "Pitch, please, just let me out."

"Hmn…" Pitch looked back towards the cage almost pensively. "No, I don't think I will."

"Please," Jack repeated, reaching out through the bars in a way that Pitch could almost pretend was reaching out for him, instead of a simple gesture of entreaty.

After a pause, and with a snarl, Pitch waved a hand and the door to the cage unlocked itself and slowly creaked open. The boogeyman looked away, not wanting to have to watch as well as listen to Jack scramble away. It wouldn't matter anyway, he could destroy the Guardians whether or not Jack was there-

He hadn't expected the rapidly  _approaching_  footfalls, the body that flung itself against him, the cold arms that wrapped around his middle. Pitch jerked at the touch, startled, but Jack just hugged him tighter. "I didn't mean it that way, Pitch. I didn't."

For a moment, Pitch felt a searing ray of hope blaze through him.

And then realization dawned, and as quickly as it arrived, the hope was snuffed out, leaving aching emptiness. Jack still didn't have his staff. It was still in Pitch's clutches, and without it, Jack wouldn't have a chance at getting out of the lair. There would have been no point to running.

Jack still had to keep acting friendly until he could get ahold of it, clearly. And if he could manipulate the boogeyman into postponing his plans as well, all the better.

Pitch clenched his fists, anger singing though his veins. He wanted to hurt Jack, for toying with him, for making him think he might have had a chance at belonging, for even now trying to use this weakness against him. He could do it, pin Jack to the floor like a moth specimen to a display board, tear him open, see if he could still speak those pretty lies without his lungs…

But even now, some damnable sentiment stopped him. He couldn't. Not to Jack. Even if the Jack that he knew was only a fabrication.

Maybe he could play along. Keep the staff away from Jack and be able to pretend for a few more hours that anyone ever cared about him. He would never have a chance like this again, after all.

…Or maybe he should just give him his staff back. Jack was powerful now, and while he wouldn't be able to kill Pitch, nothing could, maybe being frozen solid would be close enough. No one would miss him, and Jack would be able to go back to being happy, no longer having to worry about placating the boogeyman. And Pitch was so tired and heartsick. It would be better for everyone.

He shoved Jack away. "Well, congratulations, Frost," he spat, yanking the staff out of a patch of shadows. He drank in the surge of fear he felt from the Guardian, remembering the last time they were in this position. It didn't make him feel any better. He hurled the stick at Jack, who fumbled to catch it. "You won."

Pitch stood there for a long moment, waiting for Jack to act. "Well, what are you waiting for?" he snapped. Jack was out of the cage, he had his staff, there was no more reason for him to keep up the act! He should just let the damn mask fall off, let Pitch see the real him at least once.

"I don't want to fight you," Jack replied, quietly.

"Does this look like a fight, Frost? It's an execution. Now go on, finish what you started," Pitch said, spreading his hands. "You wanted to be rid of the boogeyman, didn't you?"

"Of course not!"

Pitch paused, blinking. "It was just a lie. You were never really friends with me. I understand that now, don't give me false hope," he said, half to himself.

"No. We never stopped being friends, Pitch," Jack said, stepping forwards, but Pitch backed away.

"You're lying. I'm sure you know at least some of what I did in the past. You can't be telling me you don't care about that. About the men and women and children I murdered," Pitch said, flatly.

"I… I can't say that I can forgive that. For one thing, it's not for me to forgive. But… I don't think that you're the same person who did those things. You didn't even remember until I… And… And I think you've changed."

Pitch thought about how much he had wanted to hurt Jack, to torment him and break him and make him suffer for an imaginary betrayal. About how very, very close he had been to doing so. He smiled humorlessly. "Well, you're wrong about that, I'm afraid." He faded back into the darkness. "Go home, Jack."


	4. Duality

Jack Frost was brilliant smiles and sunlight glittering on freshly-fallen snow. He was that surge of adrenaline that came from barreling down an icy slope at a breakneck pace. He was the mischievous joy that came from packing a loose snowball together and taking aim at your friend while their back was turned. He was the competitive spirit that turned a game of hockey into a battle of epic proportions in the minds of the players. He was rosy cheeks and chilled hands wrapped around hot chocolate with marshmallows. He was sleigh rides and the fast, easy grace of ice skating. He was laughter like silver bells as children and adults alike frolicked through his silver-white wonderland.

Jack Frost was light.

Pitch Black was soft, quiet, creeping dusk. He was lengthening shadows and the way the hair stood up on the back of your neck. He was the monster that lurked in the darkness at the bottom of your cellar stairs, the terror of the unknown. He was the fear that inspired hatred of all things different. He was the anxiety that kept people from reaching out to each other. He was paralysis in the face of atrocity. He was helplessness and hopelessness and overwhelming dread.

Pitch Black was darkness.

Jack Frost was cold, long, winter nights. He was the wind that howled through trees and down alleyways, the snow that fell silently and coated everything in a deep, muffling blanket. He was bare trees and withering flowers, he was chilled and hungry desperation. He was pneumonia and frostbite and slick, invisible ice. He was the rumbling thunder of an avalanche, the slow, inexorable creak of a glacier, the sudden snap of thin ice. He was slumber and hibernation and sleep that stretched on long past the winter months.

Jack Frost was death.

Pitch Black was the way your heart hammered when the monster jumped out at the screen in the horror movie. He was the thrill that made people seek out haunted houses and shark diving and bungee jumping. He was the shouted warning in the pit of your stomach when someone's smile wasn't quite right, when they were far too interested in getting you alone. He was wariness of busy streets and strange animals. He was fight or flight, he was the instinct that has been with humanity since the beginning of time. He was the sharp intake of breath, the trembling of your limbs, the pounding of your heart in your chest that all sang of being terrified and exhilarated and wonderfully, gloriously  _alive_.

Pitch Black was life.


	5. Night Terror

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for torture in this chapter. Non-explicit, but still.

The Nightmares were restless, stubborn creatures, and it so happened that occasionally a particular one might grow old and large and wily enough to attempt to question Pitch's authority. "No!" Pitch snarled, storming up to the mare. "You're to be visiting the next house over tonight. I don't care if this one's fear is sweeter, we have a system! Now come on-"

He reached for the reins of the creature, but it screeched and whirled on him, sinking fangs into his hand. Pitch was immediately thrust into a nightmare of his own; his Nightmare's venom was a potent thing. It was incredibly rare that they would try this on him at full strength; Pitch knew what to expect going in and it didn't take long to break free and distribute swift punishment. There would be people and bright light everywhere and no one would see or acknowledge him even when they tore through his chest like he wasn't even there…

What Pitch  _wasn't_  expecting was a scream. Screams were music to his ears, to have one in one of his nightmares, why-

Sudden fear washed over him as well, thick and desperate and cold as midwinter.

"Jack!" Pitch's eyes snapped open to blinding light and barely visible halls.  _Where was he-_ Another scream disrupted that thought and Pitch dashed forwards, all else forgotten. "Jack!"

No shadows, no speck of darkness laid anywhere for him to be able to use, the only power remaining to him was the sense that fed him the blazing pulses of Jack's fear, driving him forward, drawing him closer to the source. The slapping sounds of his rapid footfalls was broken by the sound of another scream, Jack's scream, and Pitch gritted his teeth, putting on more speed. He would find Jack and he would tear apart whoever was threatening the Guardian with his bare hands if he had to; no lack of power would stop him from destroying who or whatever was doing this.

At least until the corridor abruptly ended. Pitch slammed into a solid barrier of light, ricocheting painfully backwards. "No!" he roared, surging forwards again, ramming against the wall. There was no give, no cracks, no indication that his effort had amounted to anything at all. He snarled and slammed his hand against the barrier. "Jack!"

His answer was another wordless scream, and now he could hear a slick, tearing sound, a blade carving into flesh as the fear thrumming through his veins spiked.

"Hold on!" Pitch yelled, ramming into the wall again. What he would give for a handful of nightmare sand, a drop of shadow to phase through, anything! Anything that would let him put a stop to this! How could he be close enough to hear the whimpers but not stop them?

He couldn't get through the barrier. Pitch wrenched himself away from the useless battering of the obstacle, reluctantly turning away. He would have to try to find another way around, another doorway…

A sudden sizzling noise, accompanied by a broken shriek of pain, made his blood run cold, and he whirled back to the barrier, pounding a fist against it. "Stop!" Pitch screamed, desperate. "I will find every last one of you who did this and rip you to pieces, do you hear me? I- I'll-" Another scream seemed to tear bodily through him. "Stop!"

If anyone beyond the barrier could hear him, there was no sign. The screams had dwindled now, all that there was left was shuddering, gasping sobs and a slow, steady drip.

"Please…" he begged, sagging against the barrier, his hands dragging down the wall.

* * *

Pitch was slumped against a wall when Jack swooped in. His eyes were unfocused, his breathing shallow, and he didn't so much as twitch when the bitterly cold wind gusted over him. "Hey, you alright there?" Jack asked.

There was no response.

"Pitch?" Jack asked, and tapped Pitch on the shoulder.

At the contact, the boogeyman gasped and jerked back into the present. His eyes darted around the lair before falling on Jack. Shadows and nightmare sand suddenly poured out of every corner of the cavern and surged forwards to wrap around Jack. The Guardian only had time to exclaim "What the-?!" before he was cocooned from shoulder to toe in clinging darkness. Jack frowned down at it and flexed against the stuff, but it held fast.

"Pitch, what is…" Jack trailed off when he raised his head and noticed that, at some point during the confusion, the boogeyman had vanished. Why would Pitch hog-tie him and then just wander off- Jack let out a surprised little yelp when he felt the skin-crawling, whisper-sensation of spidery shadow fingers threading through his hair. Okay, so Pitch was still here, just in shadow form and was… petting him? "Pitch?"

"Shh, shhh… It's alright now," a soft whisper in his ear was the only reply, and it only served to make Jack  _more_  uncomfortable with the whole situation. A chill ran down his spine, the hair on the back of his neck standing up. As if in response, the darkness around him tightened, squeezing the air from his lungs in a wheeze. He felt his ribs creak.

"Kh… Can't… breathe…" Jack gasped out, and just as suddenly as the shadows had appeared, they vanished again, releasing the Guardian all at once. Jack stumbled but managed to remain standing. He gulped in several lungfuls of air, shuddering. "What was that?!" he demanded.

Pitch reappeared in front of him, staring at Jack with an unreadable expression. "You're okay," he said.

"No thanks to you!" Jack snapped. "Why would you do that?!"

Pitch blinked. "Do I  _need_  a reason to unnerve a Guardian?"

"When you're doing… whatever  _that_  was, yes!"

"I don't answer to you, Frost," Pitch replied, rolling his eyes.

Jack scowled and opened his mouth to argue, but the boogeyman abruptly faded back into the shadows, leaving Jack confused and annoyed. "Hey!"


	6. Assistance

"Just take it out, Pitch. It hurts…" Jack's groan echoed through the caverns and even filtered outside of the lair, to where Tooth was buzzing past on her rounds. She paused. Jack was hurt?

"Relax, Jack. I'm getting there. Stop complaining." There was a slick, wet sound that followed that statement.

"Ngh! Ah, Pitch, would it  _kill_ you to be a little more gentle?" Jack hissed, his voice strained.

_Oh god._  Tooth darted into the lair.  _Pitch wouldn't-_

"If you wanted gentle, you should have gone to one of the Guardians, Jack," the boogeyman replied lightly.

"Are you kidding? I can't ask them this, it's- ow- embarrassing!"

Pitch chuckled. "So you would give this sort of ammunition to your worst enemy instead?"

"Yeah, worst enemy. Because worst enemies do this for each other all the time, don't they? Ah!" Another wet noise.

"There we go, Jack. That wasn't so bad, was it? Just one more thing now." Whatever Pitch did next was drowned out in Jack's yell.

"Jack!" Tooth called out in worry, rounding a corner and coming to a more open area. Both Jack and Pitch turned their heads to look at her in surprise. The first thing Tooth noticed, as her stomach dropped, was that Jack was shirtless and liberally sprinkled with scratches and scrapes, but other details quickly made themselves known. They were sitting next to each other on the floor, Pitch holding a scrap of cloth pressed against Jack's side in one hand, a bottle of disinfectant in the other. Beside him lay a pair of tweezers, several shards of bloodstained glass, and an antiquated-looking first aid kit.

The boogeyman blinked slowly. " _I_ didn't cause his injuries, if that's what you're thinking," he finally said, flatly.

"Pitch…" Jack growled.

"If you can't keep your little entourage from barging into my home at all hours of the day, I see no reason to keep quiet about you being dimwitted enough to fly straight into a window like some brainless bird. Frankly, you're lucky you smashed it. You could have broken your neck."

"I don't need a lecture, Pitch!" Jack snapped, frost staining his cheeks in a blush as he started to scramble to his feet.

Pitch grabbed him by the wrist and yanked him back down. "You're not going anywhere until I stop you from bleeding like a stuck pig all over everything. Now hold still," he hissed, setting aside the disinfectant and producing a roll of gauze from the first aid kit. He started winding the bandages around the deeper gashes in Jack's torso and his eyes snapped up to glare at Tooth. "Are you still here?" he growled.


	7. Immaturity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A kid!Pitch fic was requested as a counterpoint to the [kid!Jack chapter](http://archiveofourown.org/works/722836/chapters/3267458) in AHFF. This is what came of it.

Jack found Pitch huddled in a dark corner of the lair, his knees folded up to his chest and his eyes squeezed shut. "Whoa. What's-"

"I don't feel well," Pitch grumbled from behind clenched teeth.

"Were you messing with Pestilence again?"

"No, this isn't her, it's someone else, and they're trying to put some kind of spell on me and I'm trying to fight it off and you're distracting m-" Pitch snapped, but abruptly stopped.

"Pitch?"

Pitch shuddered, and suddenly seemed to... shrink. In an eyeblink, there was a child-sized Pitch sitting in the spot, blinking yellow eyes confusedly.

Jack stared at the kid for a second, speechless. Then he laughed and scooped up the kid, holding him up by his armpits away from him. "Aw, you're adorable!"

The child's gaze fixed on Jack, and then he hissed and bit one of Jack's hands.

"Ow!" Jack cried, dropping Pitch. "No biting!"

The child landed on his feet and skittered away from Jack to hide behind a pillar, peering out suspiciously from around it.

"Okay, I'll admit, this is pretty weird." Jack stooped down to meet the boy's eyes. "Hey, Pitch? Do you know who I am?"

The pint-sized boogeyman just stared at Jack.

"Can you talk, kid?"

Still more staring.

"Hey, it's okay. I'm not going to hurt you." Jack laid his hand down on the floor and let frost spiral out from it, intricate fernlike patterns curling over the stone, glittering in the gloom of the lair. "See? Pretty, isn't it?"

The kid looked down at the pattern for a moment, then back at Jack, expression unchanged.

"Hmm. Tough crowd," Jack said, shaking his head. "Alright, kid. Suit yourself. I'll just take a little nap, then." He yawned theatrically and settled back on the stone floor, pillowing his head on his crossed arms. He closed his eyes and waited. Sure enough, after a few moments he could hear the soft scuff of approaching footsteps. Jack bit back a smirk, laying still.

Then a small hand closed around a hank of his snowy hair and  _yanked_  at the same time as a little foot planted itself on Jack's cheek. "Ouch!" Jack exclaimed, his eyes snapping open. "What-"

There was another hissing sound and a flurry of movement as the kid that had been attempting to climb his face scurried down to crouch on his chest, staring down at Jack with suspicious eyes and latching onto the front of his hoodie.

"You don't understand the concept of playing nice, do you?" Jack complained, wincing as he rubbed his sore scalp. There was an awkward silence following that. "...Still not talking, huh?"

Jack sighed and shifted so that he could prop himself up on his elbows. This was apparently not well-received by the child perched on his chest, because he growled and tightened his grip on the soft fabric of the hoodie with fingers that were suddenly much more like claws, pricking through the cloth to jab into Jack's chest. "Ouch! No, ow, stop that!" the Guardian scolded, sitting up entirely so that his hands were free to pull the talons free from his hoodie and skin.

Pitch snarled at him and scrambled to stay in place on the suddenly very vertical chest. Jack ignored him and gently pulled Pitch's claws loose, letting the kid tumble into his lap. "You're like a freaking feral cat, you know that right?"

The child stared up at Jack indignantly, and his breath hitched, lower lip trembling.

"Aw, no. Don't throw a tantrum. It's alright. Shhhh," Jack soothed. Wincing a bit in anticipation of being bitten or clawed again, he reached out and cradled the kid in his lap. Surprisingly, this didn't actually provoke retaliation in the form of sharp objects. Pitch sniffed and clutched Jack's hoodie with unclawed fingers this time, curling up and leaning against him.

Jack stifled a snicker. Man, Pitch was never gonna live that down when he went back to normal. Which would hopefully be soon-ish, because as cute as this was, Pitch was a nightmare of a kid and Jack didn't really want to lose any more blood.

They stayed that way for a short while, Jack humming a tune he hoped was calming.

After about five minutes had passed, Pitch shifted restlessly. "Want out," he mumbled.

"Oh, you  _can_ talk," Jack said, unwrapping his arms from around the kid. "There you go."

"No. Want  _out_."

"What, like, outside? I'm not sure that's a good ide-"

"Want OUT!" Pitch yelled.

"Okay, okay! Jeez," Jack muttered, scooping the kid up in his arms and getting to his feet. "Outside it is."

Pitch made a rumbling noise and didn't bite him, so Jack assumed that meant approval. The wind swirled around Jack, picked them up and drew them out into the chill spring night. They landed in the woods, shaded from the moon and far away from other people. He didn't know how this Pitch would react to strangers. He set the miniature boogeyman on the ground. "There you go."

Of course the kid didn't say so much as thank you, just blinked up at Jack and wandered off to explore. Jack sighed and leaned against a tree, watching as Pitch crouched down to overturn a medium-sized rock. A swarm of seething bugs was revealed and Jack shuddered. Of course Pitch would look for bugs... Jack choked when the kid picked up a centipede, examined it and dropped it in his mouth whole.

"Pitch no! Don't eat that!" Jack yelped, rushing forwards to pry Pitch's jaw back open and scoop out the critter, earning a snarl, a half of a centipede, and nipped fingers for his troubles. Jack grimaced and flung the half bug out into the bushes. "Don't do that!"

Pitch growled up at him and Jack sighed. It was going to be a long night, wasn't it?

* * *

In retrospect, giving Pitch a piggyback ride was a bad idea. Heck, at the time it was clearly a bad idea. But Pitch had a pair of lungs on him that you wouldn't believe, and Jack, ears ringing, finally gave into the shrieked demands. "Alright, alright, jeez! Just be careful with the claws near my throat, okay?" Jack groaned, kneeling down and holding his hands at his sides so Pitch could clamber onto his back."And don't pull my hair, either."

The miniature boogeyman climbed on board and held onto Jack's shoulders as the Guardian stood back up again, supporting the kid's legs in the crooks of his arms.

"Off we go!" Jack said, setting off on a loop around the clearing they had been playing in.

And then suddenly there was a significantly larger amount of weight on his back than there had a moment ago. "Gah!" Jack cried as he teetered off balance and fell forwards to crash into the ground, all air driven from his lungs by the weight that landed on his back like a sack of bricks.

"What the devil?" A voice above him demanded.

Jack groaned something indecipherable.

"Jack?" The weight on his back shifted slightly. "I don't see-"

"Get... Off!" Jack finally managed to wheeze out.

"Oh. What are you doing there?" Pitch asked, not getting off of him.

"Ow. Dying. From crushed lungs." Jack groaned.

"Well, that's your own fault, isn't it. What possessed you to give a piggyback ride to the Nightmare King?" Pitch asked, unsympathetically.

"Give? You demanded!"

"Then your weak will is to blame."

"Get offa me!"

The boogeyman heaved a sigh and got up.


End file.
